Monthly Archives: May 2015

A bit of aimless wandering. It seems to have gotten dark. Wonder what they all have done for the past four and a half hours since Donald protested his innocence. How long does it take Murphy to process fingerprints? And how does he even do it? Does he just eyeball ‘em?

All the suspects, sans Murphy, seem to have gathered in the dining room. Perhaps to gnaw on the floral centerpiece, since besides Mr. Steele’s magical breakfast, I don’t think any of them have eaten anything since they got here.

Speaking of Murph … here he comes! He makes a slightly ominous silhouette.

Murphy can get a job as a referee for the World Wrestling Federation after this case.

“Of COURSE it was you!” Carl says. “You planted a gun in my suitcase, you let Murphy see it, then you took it back to KILL ALAN!”
Donald looks a little worried. “None of you believe that. You know I wouldn’t kill Alan, don’t you?”

Oh, ho! Now it’s getting interesting. This Alan was quite the play-ah!

“How when you were back at Havenhurst, he used to make you do all his dirty work for him. Took credit for all your accomplishments. Used to tell jokes about you behind your back – sometimes to your face.”

Well, that’s just mean.
“Sure, sure, but that was ALAN,” Donald insists. “I mean, I admired Alan. And I’ll tell you something else. I LIKED being the second guy through the door- As long as that first guy was Alan.”

Now we know who Donald really was in this office.

Screech.

Screech continues. “Alan was very good. Sure, he could ride roughshod over your feelings. But we were a team. If he were here, he’d tell you that.”

(Anybody else think they’re subtly suggesting Don was in love with Alan?)
“Team, huh,” Carl mocks. “That’s why when he left Havenhurst, he didn’t take you with him. Stole every client your agency had and left you the king of NOTHING.”

Wait. Havenhurst was DONALD’S agency? He was the clueless, weak-willed boss whose employees ran roughshod over him? Guess he isn’t Screech after all.

He’s WKRP’s Mr. Carlson.

And he’s had just about enough of people throwing shade on his and Alan’s very special, very beautiful relationship.
“I SAID WE WERE A TEAM!” And also,

Okaaaaay.

“Anyway, it was YOU who stole my clients, not him. As SOON as Alan heard about it, he called me.”

Donald, circa 1977.
Laura seems to expect Donald to pull out a dagger at any moment. “It’s all right, Donald. We still have to wait for Murphy to look at the fingerprints.”

“I couldn’t kill Alan,” Donald persists, apparently prepared to swallow anyone who contradicts him. “I counted Alan Grievey among my closest personal friends. I remember this one case that we were on together – me doing the legwork, Alan handling the client relationships, dinner and whatnot. The firm that hired us said it, ‘You two are a hell of a team.'”

“I’m only trying to get at the truth. You can plant fibers, Carl. You can start fights. But there’s nobody here with motive to kill Alan except YOU.”

Something tells me that may not be strictly true.
“Oh really? You wanna tell em, Sandy? Or shall I?” Carl addresses Sandy. She doesn’t know what he’s talking about.
“I’m talking about a motive for murder. I’m talking about your husband. And Alan. And about living here.”

“I was the first one here Friday,” Carl tells them. “Wanted to talk to Alan about a loan. A little restitution, if you know what I mean. But Alan couldn’t talk. He wasn’t alone. Sandy was already here. No car out front, no suitcases, an awful lot of clothes for just a weekend. Who are you kidding, Sandy? You didn’t slip away for a reunion. How long have you been here?”
Sandy … smiles?

Creepy.

“Good, old Carl. Always could smell other people’s dirt a mile away. Been here for years. Been here … five days. I don’t suppose it’s any secret that Alan and I-

Play pinochle together? Have a brother-sister vaudeville act? So many possibilities!

“But I decided that I wanted to get married. And Alan wanted no part of marriage. So along comes Robin Maxwell. Wealthy, powerful, aggressive, everything that Alan was … except Alan.”

Don and Murphy are riveted.

Laura looks uncomfortable. Steele still looks indifferent.

“Well, three months after the wedding, I told myself I’d had too much to drink … then I poured myself another.

“Some women knit, some women do needlepoint – I did Alan Grievey.”

How droll!

Uh, oh. I think you’ve blown it with Murphy, Sandy. He thought you were a nice girl!

Steele, on the other hand, seems to be pondering the possibilities this opens up.

And … yada yada yada, her husband got wise to his wife cheating, hired Alan to tail her to find out who is … er … tailing her.

“He waited a week to give Robin the good news. Now, you ready for the punch line? He even sent him a bill.”

Sandy continues her long and not-all-that-interesting confession. “So I had nowhere to go. I came here. I figured a girl could do a lot worse. But Alan didn’t want me around. Said what’s the point in having a mistress if you’ve got to come home to her every night? Told me I had to be out of here by Monday. Sure, I hated Alan Grievey. But I DIDN’T kill him.”

Again with the not buyin’ it from Carl.
“Of COURSE you didn’t,” Carl sneers.

Laura is unimpressed by this whole sordid episode. “Well. There are still fingerprints to be dealt with,” she reminds them.
Steele concurs. “Miss Holt is quite right. Let’s not jump to any conclusions.” Right! They’ve still got three-and-a-half hours to kill before sunset!

Murphy goes to get his print kit, while seemingly practicing his little turn on the catwalk. And with that, I’ll leave you with Right Said Fred.

Not a fan of exercise, Mr. Steele? I’m reminded of a comment Pierce Brosnan made about his dread of having to get in shape for another Bond performance: “I’m going to have to do all that running again. And the gym is such a bore.” I agree, Mr. B!

Laura takes pity.

“Might I make a suggestion, sir?”

Why don’t we all take a break? Murphy needs to fingerprint everyone so he can have something to compare with the prints he took off the elevator.”

Looks like the rest of the group is ALL on board with that suggestion.

Those of you who wish to look for the source of the fibers, can.”

She returns to Steele.

“And those who wish to have a little chat can.”

Steele grabs the lifeline. “Splendid suggestion, Miss Holt.”

“We’ll all- regroup in an hour,” he concludes, striking a muscle man pose to emphasize his authority.

Donald and Laura have found their way to the kitchen, which is deserted. So Mr. Steele DID have to make his own breakfast. As they enter, Donald is expressing his surprise at how the weekend has turned out.

“I figured we’d see some slides of the company picnic, maybe tell stories about the 78 Christmas party …”

Laura comes in behind him, giving a backward glance. Is she afraid they are being followed? They begin to root around for coffee beans.

“Well, good old Alan always did have a sense of the theatrical,” Laura comments as she digs in Alan’s drawers.

“Lots of dog food,” Donald says, “But no coffee.”

A new mystery! WHERE IS THE DOG?

Neither detective seems concerned by the lack of a canine presence. Donald, however, has something on his mind:

“Laura, can I be honest with you? I’ve been watching that Mr. Steele of yours, and while it’s certainly not my place to say … ”

Uh, oh.

“I don’t really think he’s all he’s cracked up to be.”

Laura is a little irked, methinks.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s nothing I can put my finger on. It’s just a feeling I get.”

Wow! Apparently Don has killer instincts, too!
Meanwhile …

Steele and Carl are having their little (one-sided) talk.

“Look, Mr. Steele, all I’m asking for is a chance,” Carl grovels.

“A chance to prove myself. To show you what I can do.”

“And when’s a better chance gonna come along than this?”

“Hey, nobody’s kidding anybody here, right? I’m down on my luck. You know it; I know it. I mean, the repo business is not exactly a growth industry.” Mr. Steele seems a little indifferent to Repo Man’s plight.

Repo Man. Harry Dean Stanton, Emilio Estevez, Universal Pictures, 1984. Young punk Otto becomes a repo man after helping to steal a car, and stumbles into a world of wackiness as a result. Here’s the trailer!

Just when it looks like the mystery will never be solved, here comes their fearless leader. “The scene of the crime!” Steele pronounces.

(Huh? I thought the elevator was the scene of the crime, Mr. Steele.)
Steele explains. “I have no need to tell you people that the scene of the crime is often the best single source of conclusive evidence.”

If nothing else, Mr. Steele has an excellent memory for lines. Maybe he should become an actor.

“Boy, he IS good!” Sandy whispers to Murphy. Not sure Mr. Michaels agrees.

“You mean the elevator?” Aha! Carl remembers where the murder took place. There’s those killer instincts again

“Precisely.” Not to mention indubitably, unequivocally, and incontrovertibly.

Everybody’s ready to check it out. Steele knows where this headed, and heads them off with a brisk whistle.

“We’ll ALL check it, hmm?”

Okay!
A moment later …

Gee, it gets a bit crowded when the whole gang crams into an elevator. And for their next trick:

Each master detective pursues the investigation in his or her unique way.

Which is to say, they all look around randomly. Carl is getting uncomfortably up close and personal with Laura, while Murphy seems to have formed an inappropriate relationship with one wall of the car. Don wants to know what he’s up to.
“Dusting for prints,” the well-equipped Mr. Michales responds.

“No arguing with that,” Steele says, because it would be a stupid thing to argue about.

Petulant Carl has had enough. He leaves the little huddle in the elevator.
“Mr. Steele? Got a minute?” he inquires.

Apparently he does.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch in the elevator, where Donald’s pose suggests the collective body odor may be growing intolerable, OOD declares, “This is ridiculous.”

He suggests to Laura that they get some coffee. (Yet another man trying to get close to Miss Holt?)

This leaves only Murph and Sandy in the elevator. Miss Thing checks out Murphy’s material assets,

leans over and presses the door close button.

“Hey!” Murphy finally notices. “Sandy, I need the light.”

Oh-ho! What’s this? Looks like Sandy would like to have some quality time with Mr. Michaels in the elevator. She wants a ride. Up and down.
“Murphy, listen,” she insists. “Forget about the dusting for a minute. I need your help.”
“What are you talking about?” See, here’s the thing. Murph just doesn’t have those killer instincts.

Sandy presses … her case. “I didn’t kill Alan. But I just know that any time now, somebody’s going to find something that makes it look like I did.”

Murphy is perplexedstunned indifferent. Good heavens, Murphy. What large hands you have. No wonder Sandy wants some alone time …

Nothing like the sight of a fresh corpse to work up a good appetite, eh, Mr. Steele?

The others don’t seem to be hungry. I wonder why? (Since no one else even has a plate, can we assume Mr. Steele rustled up his own breakfast? He sets an elegant table!)

“Forgive me. Ravenous,” he explains.

Ravenous. Guy Pearce, Robert Carlyle, David Arquette. 20th Century Fox, 1999. During the Spanish-American War, the leader of a partying journeying west resort to cannibalism and finds he likes it. Oh, dear. Is the plot of this episode about to take a very surprising twist? (Nope. It’s unlikely Mr. Steele was referencing this film, which was released 17 years after this episode aired.)

Steele begins to dazzle his audience with his investigative acumen: “Now then. Let’s begin at the beginning. Being dyed in the wool professionals…”

“… we all know that the last person to see the victim alive is either a superb witness-”

Hm. It seems like Laura’s heard this song before, as she mouths the words as he says them: “… or an excellent suspect,” Steele (and Laura) conclude.

“He’s very good,” Sandy whispers. Does Laura agree? If so … what is it he’s very good at?

The Great Detective takes up his cuppa. “So then: The question I put to all of you is quite simple:”

His colleagues turn to look at him … accusingly? He apparently thinks so.

“What is this? A set up?” He gets to his feet and begins to pace the room. “I know you all heard me and Alan last night. But I wasn’t the last one with him, and I didn’t kill him!”
So how do you know who was the last one with Alan, Carl?

“Alan had me copy every phone number, every file, and every client who had ever done business with Havenhurst. And you know how he thanked me? He laughed in my face. Said he didn’t have any positions for people who couldn’t be trusted.”

Steele is enjoying the show as much as the breakfast.

Carl continues. “Then he called good old Donald over here, made sure HE knew what I’d done.”

“By the time I got from Alan’s to Havenhurst, my name was off my parking space. Thanks to good old Alan, no one will touch me.”

And thanks to you, Carl, for the exposition! Sounds like our man Alan was a real nogoodnik!

Don isn’t very sympathetic. “Don’t anybody get out the violins,” he snarks, in his mild-mannered way. “The man drove up in a Cadillac.”

Yeah, what about THAT, Carl?

“I repossessed it yesterday afternoon. It goes back to the dealer on Monday. That’s what I do for a living now, folks.”

Oops. Awkward. Still, you need killer instincts for that kind of work, right?

“You should always catch me on the weekends, Laura. That’s when I look good.”

Huh? Is all this about Carl trying to make an impression on Laura? Miss Holt seems as puzzled as I am.

“Sure I hated Alan,” he concludes. “We ALL hated Alan.”

Did we? Why did we ALL hate Alan?

Murphy wants to know about the .38 in OOG’s suitcase.

Carl doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

Murphy gets all up in Carl’s biznus. “I saw it!”

Oh, you crazy kids. Why don’t you just admit you’re in love?

Mr. Steele knows how to get to the bottom of this! “Miss Holt, would you be kind enough to check Carl’s room?”

Laura’s ready to go.

Carl’s not having it. “No way! She works with Murphy. How do I know she’s not gonna plant something?”
Donald says he’ll go. Carl likes that even less.
“YOU?! No!”
Sandy volunteers. Nope.
“Not on your life!” Carl grouses.

Now what, Mr. Steele?

“What if we all go?”

Apparently they’re on board with that idea.

In Carl’s room they start tearing it apart as Steele and Laura watch from the doorway.

Oh, dear. Housekeeping’s not going to like this. (Why does no one think to question the household staff, by the way? And where IS the household staff?)